Calvary
by ringanybells
Summary: Calvary- n, 1. A great ordeal, 2. an experience or occasion of extreme suffering. The ending of 'Stan by Me,' Slightly AU from the time Marshall and Stan come down the basement stairs. Mary has to tell the men in her life what happened to her. M


The shots rang out. Mary's breath stuck in her throat. In the most cliché way imaginable, everything slowed down. She could see the bullets, feel the air displaced around their path. The smell of gunpowder burned her nose and her ears rang with the sound of the shots. But the worst sensation by far was the taste in her mouth. It wasn't the pleasant taste that accompanied make out sessions with Raph or the kind that came from after work coffee with Marshall. It was the disgusting taste of desperation and to make it worse it was combined with the sour taint of fear and the copper tang of blood, thankfully her own, from the cuts she'd received earlier in the night. It seemed as though the period in which her senses filled the area around her lasted for eons, but she knew it couldn't have lasted more than thirty seconds.

Whoever was upstairs had heard the shot, her other captor probably thought that she had been on its receiving end. Did that mean he would smugly assume he could leave his partner to handle the body, or would he come down to make sure things had gone smoothly? Either way she didn't have much time and she needed to get the hell out of this basement. She moved toward the stairs, but before she could get halfway up, she heard a commotion on the first floor, saw the doorknob twist.

She moved back down the stairs quickly, hiding herself from view. When the second man rounded the corner, she fired. She continued pulling her trigger in a haze, aiming at the ceiling, but not really seeing her target. She heard the click of an empty magazine, and began searching for any kind of weapon she could find. As she looked, she heard the continued gunshots from upstairs, heard the shot land around her. The commotion upstairs changed, more guns were added to the fight. Again she heard someone at the door. Her hands clutched at a shovel, it was large and heavy. It would knock a full grown man out, no problem. She listened as the person, no people, descended the stairs. And in an arc that would have made Raph proud, she brought her arms back and swung with all her might.

She registered nothing at first except that she had not connected the way she had meant too. Her weapon had smacked against the wall, the first person down the stairs had ducked. Once again her mind was over run with panic, and her adrenaline went into hyper drive. Every part of her wanted to continue fighting her captors. The only problem was that she was exhausted. She had been running on fumes for the last few hours, and the confrontation with her would be rapist had taken her last bit of energy. Though she would rather die fighting, than simply collapse from exhaustion, her body did not listen. She felt the shovel slip from her fingers and she wished that she'd had just one chance to say goodbye. As the fight left her, as the last bit of strength that had kept her dignity intact left her, she felt her knees give.

But she never felt the floor. Instead strong arms wrapped around her. She allowed herself to believe that the arms belonged to her father, or better, her partner, and she prepared to die. But she was Mary Shannon, a US Marshal, and giving up was not in her vocabulary, or in her nature. Those brief thoughts of the men in her life had renewed her strength. She pushed away from the strong chest with all her strength, trying to take a fighter's stance. She managed to stand on her own two feet, but the stance she took was a far cry from the confident position she could have held just twenty four hours ago, before kidnapping and psychological damage.

She might not have recognized her company right away, but they certainly recognized her. They'd been worried sick about her for hours now. It was Stan who had ducked under her swing and it was Marshall's arms that had caught her. Stan could only stare at the once unshakable agent that he had had the pleasure of working with. There was hardly any trace of the Mary he knew in the girl wrapped in Marshall's arms, and for a second he was afraid they had lost her.

Then she pushed away from him, spreading her feet apart, to hold her weight and raising her arms, preparing for a fight if necessary. Stan let out a breath of relief. Marshall however, was not relieved. He'd felt the pain radiating from her when he'd had his arms around her, however briefly. And even though she was trying to stand proudly, he could see the defeat in her eyes, which were slightly glossy, as if she could barely focus on what she was seeing. That would explain the fighting stance she held, even though she was now in the company of her cavalry.

"Mary? Marshal Shannon? Mary, can you hear me?" Stan called her name slowly, trying to draw her attention. But there was no recognition in her eyes. He stepped forward, reaching a hand out to cover her fist. The look of panic that crossed her face, even as she jumped back several inches, caused Stan to pause in his tracks. He didn't understand why his marshal was still acting as if she was in danger.

Marshall watched the exchange between his boss and his partner. He saw the fear in her eyes, the panicked way she moved in order to keep distance between them. It pained him to see there was no recognition of Stan in her eyes. He feared opening his own mouth, not wanting to test her memory of him. But more than her fearing him, he feared that she would be unreachable after what happened to her. So he tried anyway, willing to risk his own pain, if it would help her, "Mare?" He held his arms out in front of him, showing her both of his hands, indicating he did not want to harm or startle her, as if she truly was an exotic animal

To his intense relief, her eyes softened perceptively and she locked gazes with him. It took her another moment to drop her arms and relax her stance, but the recognition in her eyes stayed. In a pale shadow of her former confidant voice, she spoke his name, "Marshall?"

"Yea, Mare, it's me. Stan and I are here. We're here to take you home. We're here to get you out of here." He spoke to her normally, though his tone was softer than it normally would be. He hoped Stan couldn't detect the slight hitch in his voice that made it sound as though he was talking to a lover, and not his partner. But he didn't really care if the other man could or not. Marshall had never been so scared in all his life as when he had realized that Mary was missing. All he wanted to do was pull her into his arms and hold her there until she told him to stop, which he knew would be about a millisecond after he first touched her, but that was fine with him.

The mention of Stan's name caused her to quickly dart her eyes to the other man, but they returned to Marshall's almost immediately. Marshall took that as a good sign and took a slow step forward. Mary didn't move, either closer to him or farther away. Marshall's hands were still out in front of him, so that she could know he wasn't trying anything, and again he stepped forward. He was about to take a third step when the basement door opened and several pairs of feet came down the stairs. Stan turned to look at the newcomers, but Marshall refused to drag his eyes off of Mary's. She, however, heard the footsteps and threw herself across the last few feet separating her from Marshall's protective arms.

Instinctively, his hands wrapped around her and her arms went around his back. She held onto him like her life depended on it, and it pained him to believe that that was how it seemed in her mind, like she was still in danger. Once his arms were around his partner, he craned his neck to assess the people who had descended into the scene of Mary's torment.

Bobby D. and two other officers stood on the stairs, trying to figure out the scene before them. The two partners stood with their arms around each other, one looking relieved, the other looking frightened. Their boss stood several feet away, a shovel discarded at his feet. And then there was the dead body, slowly leaking blood into the pool that was growing around it. Bobby D. looked from Stan to Marshall, to Mary, and then back to Stan. "Let's get out of here guys, we can go ahead to the station. CSU is on its way to handle things here."

As soon as Mary recognized the newcomer, she pushed herself slightly out of Marshall's grip. He still had his arm around her, but it was now more of a supportive arm, because she had no energy, and less a protective arm. "What do you mean the station? I'm taking her home, now. She can answer your questions tomorrow." Marshall's voice was firm, as if he was the one in charge here, as if because he said it, they would listen.

Stan, however, vetoed his plan. "Marshall, she's a witness, this was a police action. There are statements to give, protocols to follow."

"Stan, come on. She's practically asleep on her feet. She needs to take a hot shower and eat something. She's a marshal, cut her a break."

"No dice, Marshall," Bobby D's voice held a slight tinge of regret. He didn't want to make Mary relive the last day any more than he wanted to hear it. But that was the job.

Stan could see the conflict in Marshall's eyes. He was torn by his duty as an agent of the law and his duty as a partner and friend. Stan took the decision out of his hands. "You'll take her upstairs and drive her to the station. Understood, marshal?"

Marshall knew an order when he heard one, but was still prepared to fight both men on Mary's behalf. He would have too, if she hadn't spoken up. "We got it. We'll be there." All eyes trained on her, and she couldn't bring herself to meet anyone's gaze.

She'd heard them arguing. Once Marshall's arms had been around her, the fear had left her. It had been a brief war, the fear of being touched vs. the fear of what was coming, which had raged at the same time as the war between her desire to have Marshall hold her and to be the Mary who needed no one. In the end, she'd seen in Marshall's eyes that he would keep her safe, and for the moment, that was enough to overcome the fear. She straightened slowly, relieved when Marshall did not fight her movements to leave his arms.

He followed her as she moved up the stairs; he saw the wide berth that she gave not only the body on the floor, but also the bodies of the other men in the room. While normally Mary was inquisitive and loud, she neither spoke nor looked around as she moved through the house and out the nearest door. She walked right to Marshall's car and opened the door, climbing in the passenger side without a single move to take the wheel herself.

Marshall slid in behind the steering wheel, but made no move to start the car. "We don't have to go to the station if you don't want to."

Mary allowed herself a small smile. In that basement, it had been hard to remember exactly who she was, with everyone staring at her and the suffocating memories. But here, in Marshall's car, just the two of them, she could once again put her finger on her true self. She tried to suck up as much bravado as possible. "Don't get all girly on me, Marshall. Of course we have to go." She practically heard his head whip around to face her, but thankfully he kept his mouth closed. She allowed the veil to come down; there was no need to pretend with Marshall, not right now anyway. They both knew that what had happened in that basement had drained her, physically and mentally, emotionally as well. Marshall didn't need the details to read all of that on her face, in her posture, in the way she had allowed him to hold her. So she let go of her false bravado, and allowed her voice to be every bit as bone weary as she felt. "I just want to get it over with, Marshall. The sooner I give my statement, the sooner I can forget all about it."

He didn't point out that forgetting events such as these would be next to impossible, and she was grateful. Instead, he slowly reached a hand toward her face, probably to move the stray piece of hair behind her ear. But the movement of his hand caused her to flinch, and she jerked back against the passenger side door. She saw the pain fill his eyes. A part of her wanted to apologize, but a bigger part of her was still trapped in that basement, remembering the last man who had touched her.

To his credit, Marshall didn't try to apologize either, for which she was thankful. He merely started the car and started to drive. They made it five minutes in silence, both lost in thought. She wished she'd been able to control her own actions; she hadn't wanted to move away from his touch. And she didn't want to feel guilty any more than she wanted to feel afraid. She hadn't meant to flinch; it had just been instinct, like when they had shot Chuckles, or when that brute had had his hands all over her. The memory of her own violations caused her stomach to roll. "Stop the car," was all she managed to choke out before she felt the bile rise.

Marshall did not question her command, merely pulled over. Mary jumped out of the car and made it half a dozen steps before collapsing onto the grass and throwing up. She had eaten nothing for hours, a donut before the yelling, the fighting, the chloroform. None the less, she felt the acid rise. It burned the roof of her mouth as she purged what little stomach content she had. She remained on the ground for a moment, further weakened by her rebelling stomach, as if the lack of calories and seized muscles weren't enough.

She heard the footsteps behind her. She was afraid for a moment that Marshall would try to hold her again. She wasn't afraid of him, but if he tried to touch her now, she knew she'd pull away again. She didn't want to hurt Marshall like that twice in one night. But, to her relief, he stopped a few feet behind her, as if he knew she couldn't stand human contact right now, unless she was the one to initiate it. She turned to look at him with sad eyes, hoping he could read her apology without words.

He slowly raised his hands: in the left hand, a bottle of water, in the right, a few napkins. She reached for both gratefully. She wiped her mouth and took a swig of water, swirling it around in her mouth and spitting it out. She then drank two thirds of the bottle, knowing that she was dehydrated, and that she should go slowly, but ignoring it. She allowed herself another moment on the ground, making sure her stomach had settled, then slowly stood. She hadn't even made it to a fully upright position before a wave of dizziness overtook her and she swayed on her feet. Instinctively, she reached out for Marshall, not expecting him to catch her, relieved that he did. She was even more relieved when he released her, as soon as he felt her steady on her feet.

She allowed herself a moment to test her equilibrium before walking back to the car, Marshall following. He made no comment about her nausea, and she was once again thankful for her partner and best friend. He understood her so well and he knew exactly what she needed now. They climbed back into the car and began driving once again, slower this time, in case she needed to get out again.

When they were three turns away from the station, she hesitantly reached her hand over to the shifter, where his rested, and placed hers on top. She felt his hand tighten ever so slightly, felt his eyes dart to her face, but he did not try to control the contact. He simply allowed her to rest her hand over his own. This simple contact wasn't much, but to Mary, it felt like one of the most intimate things she'd ever done. She had seen in his eyes how worried he was, how relieved he was, and knew he desperately wanted to pull her close to him to reassure himself of her reality. She knew he wouldn't dare try that without her permission, though, and she wasn't quite able to allow him to have that control just yet. But this she could handle. It helped her remember who she was, the one who fixed everyone else's problems. She couldn't give Marshall everything he needed just now, but she could give him this.

They pulled into the police station parking lot and Marshall pulled into one of the further away spots, knowing she'd want the few extra moments to compose herself as she walked into the station. He moved to leave the car, moving his left hand to the door release lever, but she tightened her grip on his right, causing him to stop. When he turned his face to hers, she was already staring at him. He could make out tear tracks on her face. He resisted the urge to break the silence first, knowing she was the one who needed to talk.

She took a deep breath. "I owe you a lot right now, Marshall, I know, but I need to ask you a favor." She tried hard to keep her voice steady, but she failed. Thoughts of him had been what kept her strong in that basement, remembering how he'd kept his head, even with a hole in his chest. She didn't want to do this next part alone, but more than that she wanted to protect him from what she had to say. She'd been in the law enforcement game long enough to know a thing or two. The minute she entered the interrogation room and opened her mouth, she would stop being a marshal. She would become a victim. Things changed when you were a victim.

People looked at you differently when they knew the trauma you'd been through. They looked at you with pity, or with sympathy, or worse, with disgust. It was one of the reasons she kept her past locked up within her own head. She'd seen more than her fair share of uniforms looking at victims of assaults like they weren't worth helping, like they'd deserved what happened to them, not that she thought Marshall would be like that. But she knew that once he had all the details, he would never be able to look at her the same way he had the last time they'd been together at the office. She knew it was inevitable, that eventually he would hear the details, either because he read the report, or because she caved and told him herself. But right now, she wanted to keep what she could the same. She wanted to keep the pity and disgust out of his eyes for as long as possible. She was fairly certain she couldn't lose Marshall right now without going insane herself, but if he looked at her the way she feared he would, she wouldn't be able to keep him close.

The words had barely left her own mouth when he responded, "Anything, Mare, you know that." He had trouble saying no to her on a day to day basis, no way was there anything he could deny her right now. He waited patiently for her to ask.

She had known that would be his answer, she only hoped he'd follow it once he heard what she was asking for. When her voice came out, it was small, "I don't want you to be in the interrogation room." She saw the way his jaw clenched, knew he was about to reject her. She continued quickly, "Please, Marshall. I don't want you in that room, and I don't want Stan in there either. Once that door closes, everything is going to be different. Everything is different. But right now, this here," she made a quick gesture between the two of them, "it's the same. I can't lose that yet. And once you hear…it'll change." She paused to take a breath, hoping he understood how much this meant to her.

"Mare, please don't ask me to leave you alone. I can do anything but that." She heard the plea in his voice and nearly broke. But it was going to be hard enough admitting to Bobby D. what happened to her, she wouldn't be able to tell all three of them at the same time.

"Marshall, if you're there, I'm not sure…I'm not sure I'll be able to…" She trailed off. She didn't need to finish, he knew what she meant.

He nodded once, then again, trying to hide his pain away before looking her in the eye again. He had promised her anything, but he'd never imagined that she would ask for this. He wasn't used to turning away from information; he wasn't used to not knowing, especially when it came to his partner. He knew very well that he was the one person that she confided in, when she decided to share at all. It would be very difficult to not hear what she was going to say, harder still to leave her side. "I get it. I'll walk you inside, and then I'll head back over to the office."

Marshall did not miss the look of fear that crossed her face at that sentence, and it was no small comfort to see she was terrified of him leaving. "NO! No, don't leave; just let me give my statement alone. Then _we_ can go, I don't want to be with strangers tonight, I don't want to be alone." He heard the emphasis she placed on her plural pronoun, and it took some of the pain from her request away. But the end of her statement struck him. It sounded almost as if she had meant the same thing by alone or with strangers, like she no longer knew herself. He really wished that some of her captors had lived, so that he could pay them a visit.

"Ok, you can give your statement, while I sit at Bobby D.'s desk. Then we'll go get you some food or something." He might not like the idea of allowing Mary to give her statement alone, but in the end it wasn't his choice. She could have simply told him to stay away from the interrogation room, because truly he had no business there. But she had asked him, knowing what a boon she was begging for. That, in addition to her plea for him to stay close, showed that she wanted him. He knew Mary well enough to know just how private she was. She didn't share things with people she didn't have to, except for him. It had taken awhile, but at some point, she had started trusting him with her past, with her heart. He wasn't about to risk it by denying her this, not after all she had been through, not just in the last twenty four hours, but in the last three decades. Her family had been letting her down since she was seven. It had taken Marshall awhile to earn her trust; he wasn't about to risk losing it now. Because he knew that in the coming weeks, she was going to need someone to be there for her, and he knew that he was the only person she would trust to do that.

The two of them exited the car, walking slowly toward the police station. Marshall walked next to Mary, instead of the slight flanking position that he usually took with her. He knew she didn't need back up, she needed strength and she needed to be treated like an equal. He was close enough that she was able to reach out and clasp his hand for the last twenty feet. They entered the station and walked straight toward IR 2, which is where the staff sergeant had pointed them. The door was open and they entered. Mary took what she knew was supposed to be her seat facing the mirrored wall. "You'll make sure Stan stays with you, right?"

"Don't worry; it'll only be you and Bobby D. here." He hesitated before voicing his next opinion. "You realize everything you say will be written up and put in a report, right? And since you're a federal employee, it'll probably be typed and filed before anyone goes home tonight, by the end of tomorrow at the latest." He hated pointing it out to her, but he wanted to make sure she realized she was only delaying the inevitable, not stopping it.

"I know, but this gives me an extra, what 12 hours, before everything goes to hell. I guess it's too much to hope that no one will read it." She thought about it a minute. "Would you let it go, if I asked? Could you let me have this, till I was ready?"

Marshall didn't answer immediately. He thought about it. His initial response had been to say yes, because he knew that's what she wanted to hear. But could he really be ignorant to exactly what had happened? Could he allow other people to know things about her that he himself did not? He was about to answer no, when his gaze caught hers. "Yes, if that's what you needed. It would probably drive me crazy, the not knowing, the wondering. But if you asked me to not read your statements, the reports, then I could refrain." He didn't want to ask the next question, but knew that it was why she'd brought it up. "Do you not want me to read them?"

"Honestly, Marshall, I don't want anyone to read them. I don't even want to have them written. I'd much rather just crawl into bed and sleep for a week, forget the last 18 hours ever even happened. But it doesn't seem likely that Stan or the APD is going to let me." Marshall held his tongue, not telling her that the FBI would also insist on them. He thought she was finished, but she raised her head and met his eyes, "No, Marshall I don't want you to read them."

"You don't want me to know?"

"It's not that." He couldn't help the skeptical look that he threw her way. "Fine, it's not just that. You're my best friend, you know? In a few hours, or days, or months, I'm going to want, going to need, to talk about this. You're going to be the one I come to. But if you're looking at me like…like I said, things after tonight are going to change, I don't know if that will be one of them." Her words barely made sense to her, so she didn't expect him to understand.

But as usual, he surprised her, "Nothing is going to change us so much that I won't be here for you. But if you don't want me to read the reports, I won't. I can wait till you're ready."

"Even if I never am?"

"Even if," he gave her one last searching look. "I'll see you after." And with that he turned and walked out of the room, back down the hall and over to Bobby's desk, where he found both Bobby and Stan. They both looked up at his approach.

"What took you so long?" Marshall could read both anger and worry on his boss's face. He tried not to rise to the emotions, knowing that Stan had been almost as worried about Mary as he had been himself.

"Mary got sick on the way. We stopped for a few minutes to save the upholstery." Both men looked decently chastised for their unfounded anger. Then they looked around, noticing the absence of the female marshal.

"Where is she?" Bobby's voice also held anger, but once again, Marshall let it go. He didn't want to get in a screaming match. He just wanted to let Mary give her statement so he could get her home and make sure she got both food and sleep.

"Interrogation Room 2, she's waiting," Marshall kept his voice neutral. He watched as Bobby walked away without another word. He had made it four steps, Stan just behind him, when he turned back.

"Are you coming?"

"No, I'm not. And neither is Stan." Stan seemed stunned by this news, and was about to argue when Marshall continued, "Upon Mary's request. She doesn't want me in there, and she doesn't want you in there either, boss." They looked at him expectantly, waiting for reasons for such an odd request. "She had her reasons, and after all she's been through, I'm not going to disrespect her wishes."

"She told you what happened? You weren't supposed to question her, Marshall, it's against protocol." Stan's voice held traces of anger, but Marshall didn't really care.

"I don't know what happened, not exactly, but I know enough to know that whatever happened, it has seriously rattled her. Mary's not used to not having control; she's not used to being the one on the other side of the table. If she wants to do this alone, if that helps her at all, then that's what we're going to give her." He didn't want it to sound like a threat, but it was. If Stan was going to try and walk down that hall, Marshall would stop him, using force, if necessary.

Stan saw the look in his marshal's eyes. He walked slowly away from the detective at his side and returned to the seat he had vacated upon Marshall's arrival. Bobby D. looked from Marshall to Stan, and back to Marshall. He didn't bother saying anything. He knew there was no way he'd convince Marshall to follow him into that room and Stan seemed to be willing to obey Mary's request. It wasn't fair of him to ask one of them to come simply because _he_ didn't want to be alone. He turned on his heel and continued the walk to the interrogation room where the marshal turned victim awaited.

He stopped in front of the closed door. He had seen her in that basement, she had looked nothing like the sassy marshal he'd come to know and respect. He opened the door slowly. Mary sat behind the table, head down on her arms. He felt for her. The marshal had been held captive for the last several hours; she'd had no food and probably less sleep. There was evidence of a fight in the alley where her phone had been found, so she was probably sore and in pain. Her head was probably still killing her from the after effects of the chloroform and she would probably kill for a shower right about now.

Mary raised her head slowly, looking around for a moment to take in her surroundings, before she allowed her eyes to settle on the detective. She didn't want to be here, not at all. She wanted to be back in the car with Marshall, driving anywhere. She didn't want to be about to relive everything that she just wanted to forget.

"How are you doing, Mary?" Bobby's voice was soft, the way it was when you spoke to victims. It had that friendly twang to it, the one that told who ever heard it that they were safe. It said the person speaking was trustworthy and dependable, that they wouldn't judge you. It was supposed to calm and encourage.

It pissed Mary off. She hated that voice, she rarely ever used it. And she certainly didn't want to hear it directed at herself. It was that voice that allowed her to grab hold of who she was. "Oh, I'm just dandy. In fact, I'd say today is tied with the day my father left as the best day of my life." She hadn't meant to mention her father, it had just come out. She had meant only to show him how stupid his question was. But when she looked at his face, she saw that mention of her father had brought no shock. Instead, his face held only pity, which meant he had seen her file. And if he had been allowed to view her supposed to be closed files, it meant that Marshall and Stan had been given a peek as well. Great, that was just what she needed, on top of kidnapping and assault; her entire life had just been laid out in front of her boss and partner, and probably half of the law enforcement in Albuquerque.

"Sorry, that was a stupid thing to ask. Can I get you anything?" Her sarcasm had done nothing to change the tone of his voice.

"I really just want to get this over with, so that I can take a shower and get some sleep. So, can we please just do this and be done?" Her voice was not the defeated tone from in the basement, nor was it the strong tone she had used just moments before. It was empty, just as she was. She had no energy, no real strength to be her normal self.

Bobby nodded his head. He walked to the other side of the table, put his notepad on the surface, and sat in the other chair. "If that's what you want. We found your cell in an alley behind a local theater. You want to start there?"

Mary nodded her head once. "Yea okay, I saw my mom while I was driving. I followed her into the theater. We had a… a conversation, and I exited the theater through the alley door. There were a couple of guys waiting for me. We fought; I would have taken them had it not been for the chloroform. While I was fighting one of them, the other came at me from behind. I went down." She paused for a moment. She had been pretty proud of herself in that alley; up until she'd smelled the rag that bastard had placed over her face. "The next thing I know, I'm coming to in this basement. My hands are tied above my head, I'm sore all over and everything's a little hazy. Then the guys come down." She took a breath, trying to keep her calm.

"What happened when they came down?"

"They thought I was Brandi. They brought Chuck down. They wanted information from him. When they took the bag off his head, he told them who I was. They called Brandi. The guy, Spanky, he seemed pretty pissed at her, blamed her for screwing up his plans. To prove his point, he told her to pick which one of us she wanted to die. I had no idea what was going on."

"She picked Chuck?" Bobby asked, trying to keep her in the story. He'd seen many victims lose sense of the here and now by getting pulled into their memories. Mary barely seemed to register his remark.

"They shot him. They threw him down next to me, and when Brandi didn't give them a name, they pulled the trigger. I thought for a second she was going to pick me, save her boyfriend, but she couldn't even bother to choose. The bullet went in and, God, there was blood everywhere." She gestured to her left side, and Bobby could still see the splattered blood. When she lifted her head to continue the story, he could see red streaks on her face. "They left again after that, left him there, with me. When they came back down, they knew who I was, what I was. Spanky told his man to clean up his mess. He said that once I was dead, they would scatter me so far and wide, that no one would ever find me.

Bobby had talked to a lot of victims, their voices usually held some hint of the fear they'd been feeling. Mary's didn't. She was detached, almost as if she was relaying events that had happened to someone else. "Spanky went back upstairs, left me alone with one of the guys from the alley, the one whose nose I'd broken. He seemed to have taken a shine to me. He came at me, told me I'd get to die happy." She stopped there. Mary had been doing so well. She'd kept her voice even, her tone relaxed. But the memory of those last ten minutes before Marshall had shown up caused her voice to break.

Bobby heard the crack, the emotion that crept into her voice, "What do you mean, 'die happy'?"

Mary had been hoping that Bobby would understand what her last comment had meant. As much as she hadn't wanted to go through everything else, she really didn't want to go through this. She didn't want this man, with whom she worked, to know she'd almost been raped. She didn't want it written in some police report, open to any cop who decided they wanted to read it. She didn't want it given to her boss, for him to decide she needed therapy or that this job was too much. She didn't want her partner to read it, and think she was less of a marshal because she'd failed to protect herself. And she really didn't want her best friend to know that she'd been nearly raped. "He wanted to have sex, Bobby." She tried to deliver the line with as much contempt and sarcasm as she would any other day, about any other subject, but she fell just short.

"What?" He couldn't keep the surprise out of his voice.

"Like I said, he wanted me to die happy. He came at me; He told me to turn around and face the pole. He was on top of me so fast, licking and kissing and biting. His hands were, oh God…" She took a moment to swallow the bile, she could still feel every place where that creep had touched her. "He was ready, I can tell you that. He pressed against me from behind. I begged him to let me turn around, to face him while he did whatever it was he was going to do." The tears ran down her face, despite her tries to hold them back, they ran of their own free will. Her tone was no longer the detached one she'd been able to use to relate the earlier part of her story. It wasn't quite the broken tone usually used by victims, but she was ashamed of it nonetheless.

Bobby didn't know what to do with what she was saying. He knew how to handle victims, and he knew how to handle cops, but he'd never had to handle anyone who was both, not like this. With any other victim, he would comfort them; tell them it wasn't their fault, and that they did the right thing. But the Mary he knew would punch him if he tried to do either of those things. "Did he let you turn around?"

"Yea, I guess he thought I wanted it at that point. So I turned around, and he came at me again. I did the only thing could, I head butted him, hit him in the nose. He stumbled back, and I took the opening to spin around. I got the hook out of the wall and reached for my gun."

"You had a gun on you? Why didn't you use it before?"

"When? My hands, up until that point, had been tied above my head. Was I supposed to try and shoot my way out of the basement, out of the house?" His stupid question irked her, allowing her to deliver her retort with sarcasm.

"I guess you're right. So you got your hands free, then what?

"I shot him." She said it nonchalantly, like it was no big deal, in the same detached voice she'd been using before. But he could see the pain in her eyes. He wasn't sure which was worse, the tone of her voice when she'd told him she'd nearly been raped, or the look in her eyes when she told him she shot her would be rapist. She had had enough, and was ready to leave. Knowing she'd be questioned again, probably sometime in the next twenty four hours, she skipped ahead to the end. "And then Marshall and Stan came down the stairs, end of story."

He could see that was all she could take, that relaying just the facts like that had left her drained and empty. She didn't have the strength to talk about it anymore or the stamina to keep her head up for a round of twenty questions. "Alright, end of story. I might have a few more questions later, but I guess for now, you're good to go."

"Thanks," Mary stood up. Bobby put his hand out to shake her hand, saw the way she flinched back. He didn't say anything about it. He just remained in his seat as she walked out of the room.

Marshall watched Bobby D. disappear into the interrogation room. He then collapsed into the nearest chair. He was drained. He'd been awake since before Mary went missing, unable to sleep knowing she was in trouble. Finding her in that basement, he'd never been so relieved. But the ride from that house to the police station had been one of the most trying of his life. He'd wanted to drive her home, take her anywhere but to the station where she'd be forced to live the last twenty four hours again.

And right now, he wanted to be in that room with her holding her hand more than anything else. But Mary wanted, needed, to do this alone, and he would let her, no matter how much it killed him.

Stan's voice cut through his thoughts. "Do you want to explain to me why we're out here while Mary is in there, giving her statement, alone?" Marshall could hear the leashed anger in his voice. He could also hear the pain of rejection, same as he himself felt. Stan wanted to be by Mary's side too.

"She asked us to stay out here. She wants to do this by herself." Marshall was drained. His voice reflected that.

"What do you mean she asked to do this alone? Since when does that matter? We're supposed to stand behind her."

"You've known Mary for how long, Stan? It's better to just do as she says. Besides, how much of what was in her file did she ever tell you? Do you really think she wants to air the events of the last day in front of more people than she absolutely has to?"

"None of that matters. She doesn't really have a choice. There's going to be a report filed, which we'll both read. By the end of the week, we'll both know what happened after she left that alley." Stan wanted to be in that room. He wanted to know what happened to his marshal. It was his job as her boss to know.

Marshall decided not to tell Stan he wouldn't be reading the report. "Well that's tomorrow. Right now, she wants to do this alone. Since she had to survive this ordeal alone, it's not too much to grant her a little privacy if she has to relive it."

"Now is the time she shouldn't be alone. She should have the people she trusts in there with her, holding her hand, telling her it's all over."

"Stan, please, do you know Mary at all? She doesn't want you coddling her. She doesn't want the lies we give every one else, she doesn't want sympathy. And she certainly doesn't want any of us touching her. She wants to forget this all ever happened, she wants us to go back to the way it was, when she was just one of the guys. She's not the kind of girl who likes to share. When she finds out that they showed us her file, that we know all about her past, it's going to make everything five times worse."

"She's just been held captive at gun point. Do you really think she's going to care about some paper work that we saw?"

"I know she will. We've worked with her for years, have you ever heard any of that stuff, about her father, her childhood? There was a reason she never told us. She didn't want us to know. Now that we do, it's going to really piss her off." He had known some of the things in the file, or guessed at them from comments Mary had made, but he'd never guessed at the extent of them. And he was fairly certain Stan had known even less. Mary was extremely tight lipped when it came to her family and her past. She was more willing to talk about sex with her boyfriend than anything relating to her childhood.

"Well that's too bad. It's out there. She's going to have to deal with that, and she's going to have to deal with this. She doesn't have a choice. The shrink will tell her the same thing."

"Shrink?" Marshall could guess exactly how Mary would react to that.

"Yes, a shrink, Marshall. She was kidnapped and she discharged her weapon. There are protocols that go with that. She's going to be on leave until the department certifies her. And they won't do that until after she's spoken to a therapist."

"Let me get this straight. She was drugged and kidnapped. Her entire life's story was put on display. And on top of that, there going to make her see a psychologist? Wow, someone must really hate her upstairs." Marshall felt for his partner. She didn't do the whole touchy-sharing thing that went along with therapy. He would bet a couple thousand dollars that she was going to laugh in Stan's face when he told her she needed to talk to someone. Either she'd laugh, or she'd hit him, violence being Mary's second favorite response.

"That's how this works. There's a good chance that they'll make her take time off too."

"Oh, she's going to love that. Really, we probably should have let them kill her; this information is going to do nothing to improve her mood." He said it jokingly. There was nothing in the world that could have convinced him to leave her where she was. But she was most definitely going to be asking to go back once she heard that all she'd be getting as a reward for surviving was mandatory therapy and time off.

"This isn't something to joke about, Marshall. She could have died down there. People did die down there." Stan's voice held anger that was no longer leashed. He couldn't believe the casual way Marshall was talking about the situation his partner had been in.

"You think I don't know that?" Marshall's joviality disappeared with Stan's disapproval. He was hyper aware of what could have happened to Mary. He had spent every minute she'd been missing picturing the various ways in which he'd find her. He had a million different scenarios of her dead and tortured inside his brain, which considering his extensive knowledge, were all extremely gruesome and painful. Never had he been so frightened, not even when he'd been the one staring down death's door. But now that he'd found her, he knew better than anyone what she needed. She needed everything to be the way it was. She was going to want him to joke with her and insult her, and she was going to want to insult him back. She'd want him to offer her useless trivia about any inane topic he could and she'd want to lean over and punch him in the arm to shut him up. She didn't want him to hover at her side asking if she was alright. "I'm well aware of what _could_ have happened to her. But I also know that now that she's out, she's not going to want any of that hanging over her head. Tomorrow she's going to want to pretend none of this did happen. She's going to want to pretend it was all a bad dream."

He took a deep breath before continuing. "And like I said, I'm willing to give her what she wants. If she wants to pretend this didn't happen, I'll pretend. If that's what she needs, then that's what I'll give her. I'm not going to handle her with kid gloves, because that's the quickest way to get thrown out of her life. And none of us want that."

Stan knew that Marshall had a point. And he had seen the man earlier that evening, when Mary was missing, and in the alley, just after hearing the news. He knew Marshall had been terrified for his partner. He was surprised that Marshall had been able to return to his old self so quickly.

Marshall returned his gaze back to the door, waiting for it to open and for Mary to come out. What he'd just said to Stan was all true, but it was all part of the show he was trying to put on for Mary's behalf. He knew what she needed, just as he knew what he himself needed. She needed to have someone who would treat her as an equal, as he had always done, so that when she was ready she could talk to him, without fear of being looked down upon. And he needed to be that person for her, because he loved her, and because if she stopped trusting him, it would destroy them both.

The door to the interrogation room opened and Mary came out. Marshall could see defeat in the slump of her shoulders. He was out of his chair and by her side before she'd made it half a dozen steps from the room. Stan had followed him. Marshall made no move to touch Mary as he fell in step to her left, but Stan reached for her right shoulder. She flinched back and managed to fall into Marshall. The contact with him caused her to stumble, Marshall grabbing hold of her, long enough to keep her on her feet before releasing her again.

Stan was not sure how to deal with Mary's aversion to contact, so he continued on with the questions he'd had. "How are you doing, Mary?"

"I'm great, Stan, really. I'm considering doing this once a week, from now on."

Marshall rolled his eyes at the stupid question, but smiled at Mary's response. He was happy to see she was trying to be her old self. "Just give me a head's up, so I can schedule my life accordingly." He was pleased to see the ghost of a smile on Mary's face. "Let's get you home." He pointed toward the door and went to follow Mary, but Stan held his arm.

"You're taking her home?"

"I'm taking her wherever she wants to go. I'm going to make sure she has whatever she needs, stay with her if she wants. Then I'm going to get some sleep. I probably won't be in tomorrow, but I'll call my witnesses from my house, I'll check on Mary's more pressing cases, too. If you need something, call." Marshall didn't wait for approval, he simply broke Stan's grip and continued out the door.

Mary had not paused when Stan had stopped him, so it took a moment to catch up with her. They finished the walk to the car side by side. She climbed into the passenger side one more time and he slid in behind the wheel, "Where to?"

She was silent for a moment, contemplating the places she could go. But she knew where she couldn't go. There was no way she could face her family right now, not her mother and definitely not her sister. The thought of going anywhere near Raphael caused her stomach to roll, and she was pretty sure he wasn't home tonight, which left her with pretty much no other option. "I know it's a lot to ask Marshall, but I can't go home now, please…" She trailed off, unable to complete her request.

He didn't need her to; he started the car and pulled out of the parking spot, "My place it is." They drove in silence, Marshall watching the road and Mary trapped in her own thoughts. He would sneak glances at her when they passed under street lights. He could tell she was thinking about everything that had happened and he wished he could stop her. But he knew she needed to work through it on her own. But seeing the tears slowly fall down her face tore at him, and he resolutely added pressure to the gas, hoping to get her out of the car and her mind on other things as fast as possible.

Mary couldn't help but think of all that had happened. She had been kidnapped because of her sister. She had been caught off guard by the fight with her mother, which had seriously thrown off her reaction to her attackers. She'd watched Brandi's boyfriend get shot and had made no move to stop it, from fear that she would take the bullet herself. She'd been tied to a support beam in the basement of a drug dealer's house for several hours, after a fight and being drugged. The only thing she'd wanted while in that basement had been to get out and find Marshall. Then she'd been confronted with the very real possibility of rape and murder. She could have handled the murder, as a WITSEC agent, you knew death was a possibility. But she'd never signed on for rape.

She could now make a very short list of things that would destroy her. She was a strong person and she knew how much she could handle. She used to think she was untouchable. Then Marshall had been shot and she'd been forced to face the very distinct possibility that he would die. She had quickly realized losing him would be the beginning of the end for her. And down in that basement, she'd realized quite clearly that had her assailant succeeded, it would have been the end of her.

Mary Shannon was a creature of control. She needed the power in a situation, she needed to know what was going on and she needed to be able to make the decisions. Rape was the ultimate slap in the face for someone like that. She had been able to stop it, but it had come at the price of a bullet. She had protected her body by sacrificing someone else's life. She wasn't sure how she felt about that, but she couldn't bring herself to regret stopping him.

Marshall directed the car into his driveway. He put it in park and climbed out. He went around to the back to get Mary's overnight bag. They had both started keeping bags in the other's car, in case there was need to change while out in the field. It just made things easier. As he made his way up the walkway, Mary followed him slowly. He unlocked his front door and allowed her to enter first.

"Alright, do you want food first, or a shower?"

Mary thought for a second, trying to decide which need was more pressing. She could still feel Chuck's blood on her, not to mention grime from the alley and the basement. But she was also starving, and running seriously low on energy. She opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out.

Marshall took matters into his own hands. "Tell you what, why don't you go clean up, and I'll make some pancakes while you're in the shower." She seemed to like that idea, so he handed her the bag. "You know where the shower is, there's towels in the closet on your way down the hall." He didn't need to specifically tell her that. She'd showered at his place before, after a particularly long witness transfer. They'd driven all night to make it back to the city, but when they'd hit his house, where her car was parked, she'd been too tired to risk the road. He'd allowed her the use of both his bathroom and his guest bedroom, thankful that she was allowing herself the luxury of sleep before returning to her house to deal with her family or any paperwork she had waiting. But he wasn't sure if she'd remember that night.

He watched as she disappeared down the hall, stopping briefly to grab two towels, then continuing into the bathroom. He took another moment to wait for the shower to start before he walked into the kitchen. He busied himself with pancakes, stopping every few minutes to make sure the shower was still running. He also put on his tea kettle; he had some lavender tea which would help her relax. He knew she'd prefer coffee, but caffeine was the last thing she needed right now.

Stan watched as his two marshals disappeared out the front doors. He wanted very much to call them both back, but knew that would be a bad idea. Mary needed to get some rest; she'd probably been up as long as both himself and Marshall. And the drugs and fear would have made those hours twice as hard on her body. He knew Marshall would take care of her, comfort her, he just wished he'd been able to offer any reassurance.

Both times he had reached out to her, she had cringed away. He had seen the fear in her eyes, but he couldn't for the life of him begin to understand it. He figured this would be as good a time as any to get his hands on the police report and find out exactly what Mary had been through. He walked down the hallway and through the open door of interrogation room 2. The detective sat at the table, staring at his file of notes. Stan cleared his throat and Bobby's eyes jumped to his.

"Are they gone?"

"Yea, Marshall just took her home. Is that her report?" It was clear that it was in fact her statement, but Stan was trying to be polite.

"I thought she didn't want you and Mann to read it."

"I'm her boss and a US Marshall. I'm going to need to know what happened to her to file my own report and to make sure she gets whatever help she needs. Not to mention the fact that this is still an ongoing investigation. It doesn't really matter what she wants."

"Just remember you asked for this," was all Bobby said as he slid the folder across the table and into Stan's waiting hand.

Stan only took a moment; his skills at scanning documents had come in quite handy when he'd been promoted behind a desk. Several words stuck out at him, and he felt his stomach roll. He'd hoped never to have words like rape and Mary in the same sentence in print before him, but there they sat. He closed the file and threw it down on the table. "It didn't happen though, right?"

"She says she shot him before he could get into it. But he made it pretty close. She said he was ready, and that he was pressed against her. And from the look on her face, I'm guessing his hands roamed a little further than she would have liked. But I'm guessing she stopped him before he could do anything too damaging."

"Too damaging?" Stan's voice was incredulous. "You know how many women survive a near assault like this that can't bear to let any body touch them for years? Add to that the stuff you read in her file, about her father, her home life. God, Mary will be lucky if she ever lets anyone close to her again. No wonder she was so jittery whenever anyone got close."

"You noticed that too?" Stan threw him a quizzical look. "I tried to shake her hand when she'd finished giving her statement. She reacted as if I'd raised my hand to slap her."

"When we first found her, she jumped when I tried to touch her arm. I thought it was just because she hadn't really registered who we were. I mean she let Marshall hold her a minute after that, so I figured it was just an initial reaction. But just now in the hall, I moved to put my hand on her shoulder; she nearly took both herself and Marshall out in her haste to keep me off of her."

"Well, she's with him now, right? He knows how to handle her. She seemed fine with him, from what I saw."

"Yea, but Marshall doesn't know what happened, or what almost happened. In his desire to help her, to comfort her, what if he pushes her too far?"

"Do you think that's likely? I mean it seemed to me like Mann was pretty good at reading her."

"Yea, but this isn't exactly something you can read off of someone. I better call him and let him know. I don't want him ruining their partnership because he's trying to help her."

Stan pulled out his cell and quickly called his marshal.

Marshall's phone rang just as he was flipping his third batch of pancakes. The shower was still running. Knowing it was Stan, Marshall flipped open the phone. "What's up?"

"Listen Marshall, I just went over Mary's statement…"

Marshall cut him off. "Save it, Stan, I don't want to know. I told you already, I'm going to wait until she's ready to tell me."

"Marshall, it's not that simple."

Unbeknownst to Marshall, Mary had shut off the water. She heard his raised voice and wrapped herself in one of the towels in order to investigate. When she arrived in the kitchen, Marshall's back was to her. He was so focused on the conversation, he didn't notice her presence. Mary refrained from making her presence known, listening to the conversation instead. She could even hear Stan's slightly raised voice through the phone.

"It is that simple. She asked me to keep my nose out of that file. Come to think of it, she asked you to keep your nose out of that file, too."

"That was never an option, and you know it, Marshall. I was willing to let you do your noble gesture thing, but now that I know the full story, I can't. You need to know the truth."

"You're right I do, and I will, as soon as Mary decides to tell me. It's not up to you, Stan. It's her decision, it's her life."

"It's not just her life, Marshall, it's your job."

"I'm not her partner tonight. I'm her friend."

"That's not how it works. You don't get to pick and choose like that."

"Stan, you're not telling me what happened, she is. It's that simple."

"Damn it, Mann, listen to me. She is not your partner; she is not your friend. She is the victim here, she's your witness."

"No, Stan, she is not the victim. She's Mary, end of story. I don't care what that file says, or what happened in that basement. Neither of those things change who she is."

"You can't say that without knowing."

"Yes I can, Stan. There's nothing that you, or she, can say that can change who she is, not in my eyes."

Stan must have realized he was fighting a losing battle, but he did have one last trump card in his hand. He lowered his voice; Mary could no longer hear him. "You know I could take your badge for this, right?"

"If that's what you want, it'll be on your desk in the morning, along with my gun."

Mary registered what Marshall had just said and was able to guess what Stan's last comment had been. But there was no way she was going to let Marshall lose his badge over this. He loved this job, and she needed him as a partner too much to let him give it up. Instinctively, she flew across the room and grabbed at the phone. Her desire to change Stan's mind drove her fear of personal contact out of her head. She had her arms around Marshall, reaching for the phone. "No, Marshall, I'm not going to let you do that. You are _not_ giving up your badge over me. I'll tell you what happened, I'll tell you everything. Let me talk to Stan. Jesus Christ, you idiot what are you thinking, I'm not worth your career." Her words were frantic, her tone desperate.

Marshall held tight to the phone through Mary's attack, but he turned around in an effort to soothe her. Since she initiated the contact, he felt relatively confident in placing his hand on her shoulder and trying to calm her. "Mary, relax, it's not a big deal. You don't have to tell me anything, not before you're ready."

On the phone, they could both hear Stan, "Jesus, Marshall, You didn't say she was in the room. Tell her to relax, I'm not taking you're badge. What the hell is the matter with you letting me go on like that, with her standing there?"

Marshall took a deep breath. "Hey, will both of you shut it for a minute? No one is taking my badge. Stan, I've got to go. I'll check in tomorrow." He hung up the phone and placed it on the counter. He turned his attention back to his partner. "Hey, now, will you relax. Stan wasn't going to take my badge. He was just trying to play this as close to the rules as he could. There is nothing for you to worry about. You don't have to tell me anything tonight, not until you're ready to talk."

"You were willing to give up your badge because of me, because I asked you not to read a file you have every right to read?" Mary's voice was full of wonder and confusion.

"Yea, I was. But like I said, no one is taking my badge. So it's not a big deal." He tried to play it off, like the idea of handing in his badge was nothing. It was, of course, a very big thing. But he was willing to do it, for Mary.

"It is a big deal; it's a very big deal." Mary stopped for a moment to catch her breath. It was then that she realized the position they were in. She had thrown herself across the kitchen and into his arms in order to reach the phone. For a moment, she had been more afraid of losing Marshall than of touching him. But now she was standing, pressed against him, her arms on his chest, his hand on her very bare shoulder. The towel, which she had been clutching tightly around herself upon entry to the kitchen, had slipped down her body and, while still covering her chest, was not leaving much to Marshall's imagination.

She sprang away from him as though she had been burned. Marshall did not miss the look of fear that shot through her eyes, so he made no move to pull her back to him. She retreated to the farthest corner of the kitchen, hovering in the doorway which she had entered through just moments before. Marshall did not move, afraid that he might startle her further with any motion of his own. "The pancakes are almost done. I know you must be starving." He made no mention of her state of dress, trying to calm her instead by mentioning the food he knew that she both wanted and needed.

Her eyes traveled slowly from his face to the plate of steaming pancakes that had already been cooked. Her stomach growled. She couldn't remember the last time she'd eaten and she was not accustomed to denying her body food. Her new focus on the food, however, did not cause her to forget about her lack of clothing. She took a deep breath. "I am, actually. Just uh, just give me a minute." She turned around and fled without waiting for a response.

Marshall stared after his partner. He'd known her for more than a few years, and the nature of their job had put them in some very close, very revealing positions. He'd been quite sure before this ordeal that he knew Mary better than anyone else in her life, but now he wasn't so sure. Set aside the information that had been hiding in her personnel file, he'd guessed at most of that, but he'd never seen her act like this before. The way she'd just swung from desperate to have him close to terrified at his contact told him things he didn't want to believe.

It was only natural that whatever had happened would affect Mary, he just hadn't expected it to change her so drastically. Mary did not show fear, or weakness, as a rule, but her actions just now had brought about the image of a deer in headlights, unsure of which way to run but desperate to get away, momentarily paralyzed by indecision. He only hoped that she would be able to overcome this. He wanted Mary to trust him again. She should never fear him, and it cut him to the quick to see that look of panic when she was looking at him. He leaned against the counter, waiting for his partner's return.

Mary quickly retraced her steps to the bathroom. She felt numb all over, but she couldn't determine the source. Any person in their right mind would be reeling after being kidnapped and held against your will for hours. Any woman with a smidge of self respect would be freaking out after being tied up and assaulted. Any human with a soul would be brooding over the guilt from having taken a life. She was fairly certain that, while all those items were on her list, and she was feeling the effects of each, none were causing the butterflies in her stomach and the lack of feeling in her fingers.

Nope, those particular feeling had nothing to do with her ordeal, and everything to do with Marshall. Okay, not nothing to do with her ordeal, they just weren't centered on the events, so much as the aftermath. As much as she hated to admit it, things were becoming all to clear to her right now. Marshall had been the only person she could bring herself to touch and he'd been the only person who's touch she accepted. Sitting in that basement, he'd been the person she was thinking of, when she wasn't cursing her sister's name, of course. And just now in the kitchen, the fear of losing him had rivaled the fear of almost being raped. _Crap_.

She'd heard more than once that nearly dying could open your eyes. Maybe it had happened to Marshall in that run down gas station, she couldn't be sure. But she knew that her own eyes were now irreversibly open. And it was going to make telling Marshall what happened a lot worse. But it also meant she had to do it. You can't not tell the person you love about stuff like this, especially if you ever hope to have a functioning relationship with them. She already had enough baggage to scare people off, she didn't need something like this in her closet. And to be honest, a part of her wanted to tell Marshall. Even when she'd asked him to leave it alone, before at the station, it hadn't been because she wanted to keep it from him. It had been because she wanted to tell him, in her terms, in her time.

Sitting in Marshall's bathroom, sweatpants and t-shirt replacing his towel, Mary realized that now was her time. Not in the 'she was ready' for it way, but in the 'its now or never' way. If she let tonight go by without telling him, she'd never find the courage to do it again, because Marshall would never ask, no matter how badly he wanted to know. He cared too much to disrespect her wishes and find out any other way, but he wouldn't ever risk reminding her of this night. She knew that, and God help her if it didn't make her love him more.

Mary stood up slowly, trying to counteract her already low blood pressure, and walked out of the bathroom, down the hall, and into the kitchen. She found Marshall waiting, as she knew she would. He was leaning against the counter, a mug in his hand. On the table, were two place settings and a huge plate of pancakes, and a mug for her as well, steam rising off. "You ready to eat?" She smiled inward, off course _he_ knew better than to ask if she was alright.

"Yea, I think I am." She walked slowly to the table. When she was seated, he joined her. She took a few pancakes and placed them on her plate. The smell hit her, and all thoughts of talking were replaced by her desire to eat. They both took a few minutes, eating in a comfortable silence, each reassured by the other's presence. When Mary had finished her 4th pancake, she put her fork down and picked up her mug. She studied Marshall over its rim. He was eating slower than she had been, he'd only consumed two. She realized this was because he was stopping every few bites to watch her. The next time he looked her way, their eyes met. He put down his fork as well, knowing she had something she wanted to say.

And she did. Her head was full of a million different things that she wanted to tell him, she just wasn't sure where to start. So she started with the easiest, her apology, ironic considering how rare such an expression was from her. "I'm sorry, about before, I wasn't really thinking. I heard you offer your badge, and my body kind of took over."

Marshall let a small smile cross his face. He decided to test the waters just a bit. "No need to apologize. Please, feel free to repeat the action anytime you want." He'd been hoping she'd tell him to shut it and punch him in the arm. He'd been fearing she'd freeze up or bolt. He hadn't expected the deep blush that crept up her cheeks, or the quick flash of desire that sparked in her eyes for just a moment. That flash gave him so many different kinds of hope.

She choose not to respond to his comment verbally, knowing he could see the crimson of her cheeks all too clearly. She took a sip of her tea, then placed the mug resolutely on the table. "I'm afraid, Marshall." They were some of the hardest words she'd ever said. Mary Shannon did not fear much, as a rule, and she certainly did not admit that fear to others. But she knew that fear was an important part of everything that had happened, was about to happen. It seemed like as good a place as any to start.

Marshall tried to keep the pain from his voice. "You don't have to be afraid of me, Mary. I'm not going to hurt you."

"I know. That's not what I'm afraid of, at least, not entirely. I'm afraid of what happened to me earlier. I'm afraid of what I did, what I let happen. And I'm afraid that once I tell you all of these things, I'll lose the one person who means the most to me."

Mary's declaration caught him by surprise for a moment, but he recovered quickly. "You're not going to lose me, Mare. You're stuck with me."

The reassurance helped her relax enough to continue. Telling Bobby D. had taken about ten minutes, it had felt like 4 hours. Telling Marshall might actually take four hours. "I fought them in the alley. I swear I did, Marshall. I tried to get out of there, but that cheat used chloroform. He came at me from behind while his jackass partner was in front. What kind of marshal gets kidnapped?"

"Relax, we know that you fought. The evidence was all over their car. They snuck up on you, outnumbered you, and drugged you. It wasn't a fair fight. It could have happened to any of us." _You're not weak. _He knew that was the reassurance she was looking for, but that she wouldn't accept. So he laid out the facts. The car those creep's had been driving had been a mess, her phone had wound up under the dumpster, she had broken the one guy's nose. She had definitely fought, and he was proud of her.

She smiled slightly at his weak attempt to soothe her ego. "It shouldn't have happened to me. They were after Brandi."

That was news. Mary's abduction was meant for Brandi, her pain was not hers? That must make it so much worse, knowing you don't deserve it, but unable to fix it. And knowing Mary, she probably hadn't wished once to trade places with her sister, maybe she'd wished for a little one on one to teach her sister a lesson, but not to change places. "They told you that?"

"When they brought Chuck down, he told them I wasn't Brandi. They called her then, they were looking for the drugs that Chuck had lost. He said he gave them to her. I'm not really sure exactly what the details are."

"They don't really matter." _What matters is that you're safe now. _"What matters is that you're out, and they got what was coming to them." Of course, he'd wished for a few hours alone with them to teach them not to kidnap women, but that didn't really matter.

"I shot him, Marshall. I just, I pulled the trigger. It was like freeze frame. Everything was so real." Tears fell down her face. It didn't matter at this point. She'd given Marshall her heart long ago, even if she hadn't realized it. If he'd stuck with her this long, she was fairly certain a few tears wouldn't drive him away.

"Hey, you did what you had to do. He kidnapped you. You had every right to pull that trigger. If you hadn't, me or Stan would have."

This was her chance, and she'd come to far to let it slip by. She only wished her voice would work properly. Instead of her normal, strong tone, the words that came out were whispered, shameful. "I had to, he was going to…" She swallowed, tried again, "he told me that I was going to die, but he wanted me to be happy." Her eyes had been looking anywhere but at Marshall until this point. She locked eyes with him. She needed to see this, it would tell her if she could hope for any kind of future with him. "He was going to rape me. And I told him I wanted it."

She saw the wars waging behind his eyes. His first instinct had been to turn away, to shield her from whatever his eyes might say, at least until he could get it all under control. But he knew that to turn away now would break her. It would tell her that there was something he didn't want her to see and that would make her doubt herself. So he kept his eyes trained on hers, no matter how hard it was for him. Stronger than the urge to turn away were the emotions warring for dominance. And she could read every one.

She could see the most predominant one, anger. She knew it was not anger at her, but at the people who had held her. There was also fear. He was afraid not of her, but for her. The thought of what happened to her terrified him. And then she saw the shame. It took her only a second to realize it was not her own shame, but his. He was ashamed that he had not been able to protect her, to shelter her from all that had happened. All other emotions were wiped out though, when the strongest one finally shone through.

It was one that Mary was only slightly familiar with. She couldn't remember feeling it, truly, for anyone else since her father. Her mother and sister occasionally warranted it, certainly none of her bed mates. It was love, and even though she did not often show it, she recognized it in Marshall's eyes. And it allowed her to breath again. She wasn't sure exactly why, because Marshall had always stood by her before, but she had been afraid that this might split them apart. She had not wanted to tell him because she had feared never seeing this look in his eyes, directed at her.

He moved forward to embrace her, desperately needing to feel her safe in his arms, and then stopped himself. He cursed himself internally for almost touching her, which would be the last thing she wanted after what she'd been through. So he was more than a little shocked when he felt her throw herself into his arms once again. He didn't hesitate for a moment, wrapping his arms tightly around her. They stood there for minutes that felt like hours that seemed like seconds. He wasn't sure when her tears started, but he held her while they fell. He rubbed a hand up and down her back as she sobbed. When her shoulders stopped shaking, he eased her back gently, in order to look into her eyes. "You stopped it. _You_ stopped it. And you're here, and you're safe. That's all that matters. You're here with me and everything is going to get better."

From anyone else, those would have seemed like hollow words and empty promises, but coming from Marshall, she believed them. Marshall knew everything, she could trust him on this. If he said she was alright, and that everything else would come together, eventually, than she trusted in his words. But a part of her was still afraid. Would things change now? Would she lose the life she had worked so hard to build? "What about the guys? Now that you all know, things won't be the same."

"Don't even think like that, Mare. Stan is just happy you're safe. Bobby D. doesn't care what happened, you've proven that you can take care of yourself."

"And what about you?" She tried to keep the fear of his answer from registering in her voice, but she knew he could hear it.

"Like I said to Stan, there is nothing you can do that will change the way I feel about you. You're not getting rid of me, so stop trying." He placed his hand to the side of her face. Now that she was letting him touch her, he was going to show her just how much she meant to him, that what happened had changed nothing.

His words gave her hope. "Marshall, down in that basement, well I had a lot of time to think, as I'm sure you can imagine. But there was only one thing really on my mind. There was none of that my whole life flashing before my eyes, or a list of regrets. All I could think about was you, about us."

Even as Marshall's spirit soared and his heart sped up, he shushed her. "Mary, don't. Please, don't, not now."

"Why not Marshall? Nearly dying puts a lot of things in perspective. I figured you of all people would understand that."

"Don't misunderstand, I get that. Not that I needed a bullet hole to see what was right in front of me. But we can't go there, not now, not after…" He trailed off. It never occurred to him that this would bring her to where he was. Nearly being raped should have pushed all thoughts of intimacy with a man out of her head for quite some time. But here she was, standing in his kitchen, talking about 'them.' She had no idea how badly he wanted it, but he couldn't take it, not right now.

"So things have changed." She couldn't keep the trace of pain from her voice, or the panic from her eyes. She tried to pull away from Marshall, desperate to cover her face, put back up the wall she'd let fall with him tonight.

Despite what had happened tonight, he couldn't let her go. He pulled her close, moving his hands to grip her upper arms. "No, Mare, nothing has changed. But you're not ready to start thinking about us, not after what you've been through."

"Who gets to decide, Marshall? Why do you get to say I'm not ready? I know what I'm feeling, I know what I was thinking when that gun was aimed at my head, when that creep had his tongue all over me." She saw a flash of pain as she mentioned the horrors she had lived through cross his face. "How do you know I'm not ready?"

"Because I do. You need time to come to terms with what happened, get past what they did to you. I don't want you to rush into something else, just because you think it will cleanse your mind of what happened." He stopped for a moment, both to catch his breath and to let that sink in. "I don't want to ruin what we could have by rushing into it too fast. I don't want us to be tainted by those bastards."

His words killed the retort that had been forming on her tongue. She had thought his words were meant to dissuade her from going down the road that began with their possible relationship. But they hadn't. He wanted them to go down that road, he just didn't want them to have to turn around once on it. Her heart skipped a beat out of fear. She had never done commitment or long term before. She had always been about instant gratification and running before you could get hurt. But she wanted those other things with Marshall. She wanted to wake up next to him, she wanted to use that four letter word that she hadn't used since her father left.

He wasn't telling her no, he was telling her not yet. And maybe he was right. She needed him more as a partner now than as a lover. If she screwed their friendship up because she screwed up their relationship, it would do more damage to her psyche than a month in that basement could.

"So, not now. But maybe in the future, when we're ready? There could be an us? Because Marshall, there hasn't been a single man in my life, consistently, since my father left, except you. That tells me that you're different than the others. It tells me that maybe you're the one I can trust."

Marshall let out a sigh. She had stopped fighting to get out of his arms, but she was still fighting to get him out of her heart. "You can trust me, Mare, with your life."

"You idiot, I do trust you with my life," she let out a small laugh. "It's my heart I'm worried about."

"You can trust me with that too. I'd never do anything to hurt it."

"I think I believe you. Are you sure you want to even consider this? I'm no picnic, Marshall. You know that better than anyone. My life, my family, my head, they're all screwed up. Courting me is like a one way ticket to Crazy Town. Why would you possibly want to do that to yourself?"

"Because I love you, and I want it. You're the one for me, Mary Shannon. Just you wait. In a few months, a few years, when we're ready, when we do this, you'll see. You and I are going to have one incredible ride." And despite his better judgment, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers. He could feel the fireworks in his own head, and knew she felt them too. He pulled back after only a few seconds, not wanting to push further than he could handle, or than she could handle. "I promise."

Mary was still reeling from the feel of his lips, but she could feel the finality in his last words. When they happened, it would be the forever kind of thing. And she was strangely okay with that. She couldn't imagine her life without Marshall, and she was just beginning to see what a life _with_ Marshall could be like. It wouldn't be easy, but what in her life ever had been?

This new feeling of love, of anticipation, eclipsed what she had been experiencing. The pain from being captive, the fear from being assaulted, what were they compared to love, to friendship? She was safe, with Marshall. She could overcome what happened, and fast, so that they could have their forever. She leaned her head against his chest. "Okay, Marshall. I can wait, but you'd better take me home, because I can't promise to behave myself if I spend the night."

She both felt and heard his light chuckle. "Always the dirty mind, isn't that right? Can't be trusted to behave, what am I going to do with you?"

She smiled to herself. Marshall had been right earlier when he'd said nothing had changed. They had felt this way about each other for some time, but neither had been willing to acknowledge it, for fear it would spook the other. But they would continue as they had been. He would spout off his impressive, yet useless knowledge for her at every opportunity. She would abuse him verbally and insult him at every chance, because that was the way they worked. She decided she would be a little nicer to him from now on, but just a little. And she wouldn't miss a single opportunity to tease him. Maybe the more she reminded him what he was missing, the sooner he would let them walk down that road. She felt the smirk curl her lips as she answered his question, "Whatever you want, Marshall, whatever you want."

He held her tighter.


End file.
